


Challenge Two: Rare

by Pornalot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pornalot, Pornalot 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pornalot/pseuds/Pornalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for the second Pornalot weekly challenge: Rare</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold the porny entries for week two of the Pornalot fest!
> 
> Each entry has individual warnings but they have not been mod-checked so proceed at your own risk.
> 
> Please vote for your favourite entries! All you need is an LJ account :D You can vote [HERE](http://pornalot.livejournal.com/4473.html)

Entry 1

 **Warnings:** Modern AU. Tattoo artist. Some needle mention.  
**Pairing:** Gwaine/Mordred

He took in a deep breath—starting with the needle, carefully tracing the lines he’d just drawn on Mordred’s body. 

“Will you ease up?” Mordred asked, almost chuckling. “You’re making me nervous.” 

“I am eased up,” Gwaine replied. He stopped for a second to scowl at his client, his muse, his friend. Also...his crush. Except, Mordred probably had no idea Gwaine was mad over him. 

They were in the shop late at night; everyone else had left. 

The buzzing sound echoed, and Gwaine concentrated, swiping the blood, focusing in again, setting the rhythm of the machine to make sure he pushed in hard enough, but not too much that he’d actually hurt. 

Sure, he was nervous, but he was also a professional. He’d tattooed thousands of people in the last ten years—he could do this in his sleep. It was just…Mordred smelled _so_ good. Gwaine’s cock, which was already half-hard because his work turned him on, was fully erect because of Mordred. That’s who he was doing this to. The one who helped him come up with the most interesting ideas and designs and then let Gwaine use his body as a canvas. 

He looked up for a second and found Mordred with his head tilted back, eyes closed, biting his lower lip. 

“Is it hurting?” 

He was working on Mordred’s right rib—the spot could be sensitive, but Mordred had endured worse. So far, his shin had been most painful. 

“Uh-uh.” Mordred shook his head, giving a tentative smile. “I love the pressure.” 

_Fuck_. Gwaine released a low groan; his cock twitched with the thought of what kinds of pressures Mordred appreciated, and how Gwaine’d love to provide them. 

“I…uh…do you wanna take a break?” 

Mordred immediately opened his eyes and looked up at him. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“What? No!” Gwaine turned the machine off and put the needle down. “I just…need some water.” 

“Okay, sure.” 

“Do you want some? Don't get up. Just lay right there…” 

Mordred gave him a smirk. “Like having me on my back, do you?” 

Gwaine scowled at him before walking away. He quickly adjusted his erection in his trousers so he could walk better and went to the small fridge behind the till where Merlin usually kept his Pepsis and bottled waters, grabbing two. When he went back, he saw Mordred trying to take a picture of the half-done artwork with his phone. 

“You’re always so impatient,” Gwaine said, taking the phone away from Mordred. “You’ll see it when it’s ready.”

“Fine,” Mordred growled, taking the water. “I’ll just be here then. Compliant. Ready for your mark on me.” 

“You say it like I'm forcing you,” Gwaine said, drinking his water. He could do this. He loved bantering with Mordred, because then they were just a couple of friends, and Gwaine could easily forget about his feelings. It’s usually the quiet that killed him. _And_ being so close to Mordred’s body. He was worried for the future, when he was to tattoo Mordred’s upper legs, his inner thighs—

“Lost in thought again, I see.” Mordred pushed Gwaine’s leg with his toe. “If you’re not in the mood—”

“No, that’s not it.” Gwaine settled on the chair next to Mordred, getting ready for the second round. “Now, shut up, and stay still.” 

An hour later, he was done. He’d let Mordred wait for ten days before adding in the colour—finalising the design so it could blend with the artwork on Mordred’s back.

Gwaine was very lucky. Mordred inspired his abstract design work, the kinds of stuff no one actually wanted on their body, but then he always wanted it on him. He’d always said he loved being a unique piece of art, and Gwaine loved that about him. Gwaine liked knowing there was a part of him on Mordred, and it was going to be there—forever. 

“Oh, I love it!” Mordred exclaimed. 

“Are you sure, I can work on the details later, and show you what—”

“When was the last time I needed to approve something, Gwaine. I told you. I’m in this. God, it’s beautiful. It’s so fucking hot.” 

Gwaine chuckled lightly and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he slowly cleaned the tattoo before putting on the plastic wrapping. He knew he didn’t need to tell Mordred about how to take care of it. 

“Fucking hell, I can’t wait to show it off. Bet I’d get like a million phone-numbers. I always do whenever I show your art to other—”

“You do?” Gwaine asked, surprised. “Never seen you on a date—”

Mordred rolled his eyes. “Just because I get phone-numbers doesn’t mean I call them. Not interested in any of those blokes.” 

“You’re not?” Gwaine asked. He was busy cleaning up the supplies so he didn’t look up at Mordred, who'd now sat up on the table. 

“Hey. Come here,” Mordred said, pulling on Gwaine’s arm. “You know I’m not, Gwaine. I only belong to my artist.” 

“Mordre—”

Mordred wrapped his leg around Gwaine, pulling him closer. Gwaine’s traitorous cock was still more than half-hard; it pressed against Mordred’s stomach. He’d no idea if Mordred could feel it, or what he’d think about it. 

“I can’t wait anymore, Gwaine.” 

“What do you mean?” Gwaine asked, gulping nervously.

“I know you want me…” Mordred pressed the palm of his hand against Gwaine’s cock as he looked up at him, smiling. “I want you, too. Please.” 

“Lie back,” Gwaine said, his voice coming out husky. “You can’t do much with a fresh tattoo on your side.” As Mordred settled back on the table, Gwaine opened Mordred's trousers, bringing out his impressive cock. He licked the head as Mordred gasped under him. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

Finally, Gwaine tasted his muse for the first time. 

Mordred made the most delicious sounds. As he came, Gwaine managed to spill in his own pants, barely putting a hand on himself.

 

 

Entry 2

 **Warnings:** claustrophobia (sex doesn’t occur during or immediately after the situation), implied inexperienced Mordred, light biting  
**Pairing:** Mordred/Percival

"It's no use. We're gonna have to leave it here, Mordred."

Percival watched Mordred heave a sigh. He pressed a switch and his speeder slowly descended from where it hovered in the air, its excessive smoking ceasing immediately. Mordred made as if to dismount, but instead he remained sitting with his legs hanging off the side of the bike. He pushed his goggles up to his unruly hair and looked at Arthur, waiting for his next orders.

Arthur looked at the team, considering. "I need everyone else back at once. You're going with Percival."

Percival lowered his Rider as soon as he heard the words leave his mouth, but Mordred made no move to join him.

After a moment's silence, Gwaine said, "You can take my speeder. I'll go with Percy."

"The cargo is taking up the cart, and you two won’t fit in the seat," Arthur reasoned.

"I'm more slender," Merlin offered.

"Did you not hear me say that I need you on base?" Arthur snapped. "What's going on?" he asked Mordred and Percival.

"I don't know, sir," Percival replied.

"It's fine, I'll go," Mordred said. Percival tried not to take offence at his resigned tone, nor the pitying looks Gwaine and Merlin gave Mordred.

"Good," Arthur said and didn't waste time heading off. The others followed him immediately.

Percival slid to the front and gave Mordred a hand up. He remained pressed uncomfortably close to the controls but he didn’t complain; not even when Mordred kept wiggling and groaning behind him.

A few minutes in they approached the denser part of the woods and Percival reached to close the sides of his vehicle. As the panels rose up and over them, Mordred all but whined. "Do we have to close them?" 

"I mean, I could leave them open if you want the branches to poke my eyes out." He tried to pass it off as a joke, but he wasn't entirely sure his annoyance hadn't come through. "We'd need to slow down to a crawl if I were to steer clear of them. It'd take us twice as long to go the distance then, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to spend all that time with me."

Hurt was on its way to washing over him when Mordred didn't deny it, but then Percival heard his whisper of _I can't breathe_ and chills ran down his spine.

"Sir, requesting permission to take a small detour," Percival transmitted, already veering to the right. Mordred's hands grasped the back of his uniform.

"Where the hell are you going?" Arthur demanded.

Percival tapped over his map and marked the small clearing for Arthur to see. "Mordred thinks we can find something Gaius needed. Something that used to grow on Earth."

There was a pause. "Don't take too long."

"Yes, sir."

Percival went as fast as his Rider allowed and opened the door as soon as they were in the clear. He jumped out and reached for Mordred, who all but stumbled into his arms and the two of them sank into the ground, much like the first time they had met.

-

"It shouldn’t make me feel like this," Mordred said, sitting at the edge of the bed in Percival's quarters. "I don't know why..."

"You nearly died," Percival replied, remembering. Mordred had been trapped in his fighter for nearly two days when they'd found him. He'd been on the enemy's side back then, but Percival couldn't have brought himself to be anything but compassionate when he'd seen Mordred's bloody fists pounding at the armoured glass, eyes wild with desperation. "I'm sorry."

Mordred frowned. "For what?"

"I was stupid. I was offended because I thought you didn't want to spend time with me, when it wasn’t about me at all."

Mordred regarded him for a moment. "That really is stupid," he said. Percival looked away, but his gaze snapped back to Mordred when he continued, "I want to spend as much time with you as humanly possible."

Percival raised his eyebrows. It was Mordred's turn to avert his eyes. "I mean, it's fine if you don’t feel the same. I just... For a while now..."

Percival reached for him. Mordred looked down at where Percival’s hand covered his and a little smile settled on his face. He shifted closer and, as if scared to look at him, shut his eyes and tentatively leaned in. Percival closed the distance until their lips met.

It was soft at first; then urgent. Quiet whimpers flowed out of Mordred’s mouth and made Percival pull him closer, unsure whether he wanted them to stop or to turn them into screams. Mordred climbed on the bed and sat astride him, and for a ridiculous moment Percival thought of himself as one of the speeders Mordred loved so much. Except Mordred never rubbed himself on the seat _like that_ , and Percival would be mortified to reach wherever they were headed that fast.

Alas, Mordred didn't seem to share his concerns.

"Slow down," Percival warned against his lips, grasping at the soft fabric of Mordred’s shirt.

"Please," Mordred whimpered in reply. "I've wanted to... I want to make you..." He couldn't seem to finish his thought. He buried his face in the crook of Percival’s neck; a bashful gesture the complete opposite of the movement of his hips.

Percival groaned and slipped his hands under Mordred's shirt. Mordred shivered as he felt the calloused palms run over his sides and sought out Percival’s lips again.

"I'm gonna..."

 _Already?_ Percival didn't let the word slip out, pulling Mordred closer and sucking on his neck instead. He gently bit on the tender skin and kept thrusting up even as Mordred shook and moaned in his arms, groaning and holding him close when he found his own release.

"Wanna stay with me tonight?" Percival murmured some minutes after.

Mordred hesitated. His hand ventured up to where Percival's teeth marks were fading. "Can we do this again?"

Percival smiled and pulled him closer.

 

 

Entry 3

 **Warnings:** Interspecies sex, non-con somnophilia, objectification, mating.  
**Pairing:** Arthur/Sophia

Like all land-dwellers, he was warm. He'd been warmer when she pulled him in - his useless coverings only recently shed - but even now he was exuding that wonderful heat that excited her so and made her flutter like a fingerling. She couldn't keep herself from examining the strange, beautiful beast she'd only heard about in stories before she left the sea and swam upstream for the first time.

There was algae on his skin. Unlike that which grew in such gorgeous green abundance from her own head, it was dark. It had looked like sunshine on sand as he leaned over the water's surface to admire her, but it had lost it brilliance when wet. Most of his body was covered in it, so very fine in some places and - now she giggled, her voice the tinkle of crushed ice washing against a beach - rougher elsewhere.

Instead of legs that became a graceful tail fin when held together, his ended in peculiar bits for walking. She gathered him closer and swum to the water's edge. Her catch lolled in her arms and she kissed the crooked bridge of his nose and rocked him. Her sting had left him docile, too tired to open his summer-sea eyes.

"You're so pink," she whispered. She touched his wide mouth, her own curling in a joyful smile. "Yes you are! So pink."

She draped him against a moss-clad stone, so as to better explore him. His torso was broad. There was muscle and blubber - she was pleased to note he wasn't entirely without insulation, the poor helpless thing - but even the cage of bone underneath seemed larger, heavier, than hers. 

Such a fine catch! Her sisters would not believe her when she told them!

His arms were bulky, not lean and smooth like hers, and they lacked the veil-thin, iridescent fins that grew from the back of her own. There was hardly any tissue between his fingers. She snickered. Could he swim at all?

She traced her hands down his finless sides - how did he steer? how did he feel things? - to his hips, and inwards, to his groin. Where she had plump lips and the flesh and pearl of a mussel, he had a rough nest of algae and - oh! She touched the pouch. It looked heavy. He had to be ready to spawn. The catch whined in his sleep and she shushed him, pressing a kiss to his belly. His hand moved and came to rest heavily on her head.

His clasper - there was only the one, was he damaged? - grew. It had been exposed all the time, tiny and brownish pink, but now it became firm. She closed her fingers around it. The soft lid of skin enclosing the tip retracted, exposing a bisected bulb. It pulsed. She felt herself pulse in response, her body readying itself.

She kissed him again. She licked his pouch and his poor little clasper and her catch moaned softly, his fingers burying themselves in her locks. She gasped at the strength still in him. Oh, he would do. He would do! Stroking his thighs, she tasted him.

Worrying that he might spend too soon, she shook off his hand and pulled him into the water again. The tarn was shallow and sun-warm, ideal for a delicate land-living animal. Her mother's generation had callously pulled catches into cold lakes and rivers, not caring if the poor beasts survived the prolonged mating, but her own generation was kinder. 

Singing softly to him, she ferried him into a cluster of lily pads. The flowers were blooming, white and as large as her open hands. The scent would soothe him. And so, buoyant in the water, with her fins fanning around them in an intimate dance, she aligned their bodies. Tickling his clasper and pouch with her pelvic fins, she guided him inside.

She was slippery, and it was easy. She enclosed him: curling her arms and her legs around him, while her fins fluttered. She had become as pink as him, hot from his heat and from the warm water. He moaned and sought her mouth and she obliged, retracting her sharpest teeth so as not to hurt him.

Taking him from two ends, she grew wanton. She touched him all over, so hungry for him. And even like this, half asleep, her catch struggled to touch her too. He fondled her breasts, her belly, her buttocks, her dorsal fin. She moved, remembering that simply getting the clasper inside wasn't enough. Like waves, she let herself break against him, again and again; and squeezing him, making sure she was tight.

One of his hands slid lower, ended up at the apex of her slit. He fingered the pearl and she climaxed, taking him with her. She felt it: the wonderful heat of him filling her. Pleased, she floated with him for a long time, letting him put his red mouth to her white breasts.

When she deposited him on the rocks to dry in the sun, he was waking up. He pulled her close before she could slip back into the water, mumbling words she did not understand. He was ready again and she straddled him, somewhat confused about doing it on land. With his large hands on her hips, then massaging her breasts, she had him again, delighted as her beautiful catch gave her another helping of his milt.

She left him asleep, all splayed out and soft with his release, with just a water lily to remember her by. By now she was sickening in these hot, murky waters and longing for the cool vastness of the sea. Inside her, the hot spark of him was quickening. In a year's time, her daughters would be born into the gentle green of the kelp meadow nurseries. She fondled her belly and smiled.

 

 

Entry 4

 **Warnings:** None!  
**Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur

Arthur took the sword from underneath his bed and laid it over the duvet. It was the most beautiful thing Arthur had seen in his life. The hilt fit his hand perfectly, like it was made for him.

The woman had told him he would need it. He couldn’t understand what a nineteen year old on his gap year could possibly do with a metre long sword.

Looking more closely at the blade, Arthur’s brow furrowed as he noticed something strange. He went over to the window to close the curtains and shut out the light to see. It was definitely weird. The line of the fuller was glowing softly.

\---

Arthur was barely two miles out from his house and he knew the crumbling Elizabethan farmhouse did not belong. Nor did the road he had taken to find it, overgrown and potholed, running between two tumbledown dry stone walls. But the sword had glowed bright in his hand, and he had followed the strength of its light. Arthur started towards the farmhouse, there were lights glowing in the windows. He knocked on the door and it swung open.

Behind it was a woman wearing a breastplate and a rifle, who nodded and let him through. A cluster of beautiful women in white gowns gathered around him. If he looked at them obliquely, their eyes seemed to glow. They chattered as if he was not really there, they reached for his clothes and touched them with a mix of confusion and awe.

And then they quietened. Arthur followed their gazes up to the stairs at the back of the room, where a man dressed in white descended. Looking at the man, Arthur had the strangest sensation he had seen him before. His eyes were the sharpest blue Arthur had ever seen, and his cheekbones were stunning. It was strange that while none of the girls around him, even in their chiffon light clothes, had seemed sexual, this man could stir him.

“Arthur,” the man said, taking his hand and greeting him like a friend, “You’re here. I think we should talk.”

And talk they did. For hours, they spoke. The man showed Arthur magic, and they drank wine. He became aware of how closely he was sitting to the man, to Merlin, he said, which was a funny name but tasted good on Arthur's tongue. And Arthur felt hypnotised, caught, by his eyes and his sweeping eyelashes and his long fingers. Arthur wanted him more than he had ever wanted a person before.

Slowly, while Merlin spoke about destiny and the past and danger Arthur leant in and kissed him. Merlin didn’t stop him, but when he pulled back for air Merlin rested a warning hand on his chest.

“Arthur I can’t.” And then he blushed, looking down.

“You can’t,” Arthur said, frowning, “Not that you don’t want to.” Arthur followed Merlin’s eyes. He could see the line of his dick underneath the thin robes, showing what he really felt.

“If I do it, I might lose my magic.” Merlin raised his eyes for that, sad, “Women witches, they’re common enough that we know how far they can go. The lady gatekeeper, she services some of the girls when they need it, but the touch of a man, of his cock, would ruin their powers. As a man, I simply don’t know. We’re rare. And I- I can’t risk my magic. You’ll need it.”

“People keep telling me what I need,” Arthur huffed, “But I don’t understand why. I know what I want and so do you. You shouldn’t stay a virgin just because of some stupid rule that you don’t know is true.”

Merlin smiled a little and shook his head.

“I’ve been a virgin for a thousand years, Arthur. I’d like not to be, but-”

Arthur’s eyes shone with a mischievous light.

“If you can come, then we can do something. Do you ever touch yourself?”

Merlin’s bright red blush displayed his answer.

“Come on,” Arthur purred, “Open your dress.” He leant in and kissed Merlin while he teased his robes open, slid his hand down Merlin’s chest. He took hold of Merlin, thicker and harder than Arthur had even hoped, and rubbed him.

“I think you should take over,” Arthur said, “Let me watch.” Very, very carefully Merlin started to arrange himself. He leant back against the cushions they had arranged to sit on, spread his legs a little, and replaced Arthur’s hand with his own. Quickly, eagerly, Arthur opened his jeans and took his dick out, belatedly removing his shirt. He knelt in front of Merlin, who sat transfixed, squeezing the bottom of his dick. Arthur smiled and Merlin had to squeeze even harder.

“Move with me,” Arthur said, and he started to work his own dick, torturously slow. After a moment Merlin understood, and started moving his hand.

“Arthur,” he sighed, surprised and pleased at the idea. Arthur licked his lips and rubbed his hand over his slit, watched Merlin do the same and gasp at the touch.

So Arthur tried everything. He learnt the little twists and flicks that made Merlin pant and gasp. He squeezed his own nipples and watched Merlin bite his lip to try to stop himself coming as he copied, afraid that it would end and afraid for his magic. Arthur, less concerned, did it again. He watched Merlin’s balls draw up and he sped his hand a little, close himself. Merlin came when he pressed his thumb in, nail catching, just under the head, and Arthur was able to hold off his own orgasm just long enough to watch. Merlin’s back arched, he cried out, and his eyes glowed gold before fluttering closed. It was the gold eyes that Arthur couldn’t bear, so gorgeous that he spilled all over his own hand heartbeats later.

The girls found them sated and warm, Arthur’s head on Merlin’s sleeping chest, watching the dream horses his sleeping mind conjured dancing circles in the air.

 

 

Entry 5

 **Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Arthur/Merlin, Hunith/Uther

“Make it stop!” Merlin sobbed, pressing his face into the pillow. “Oh gods, Arthur please! I can’t bear it!”

Arthur was having similar trouble himself. It had to be the single most awful, awkward, unbearable night they’d ever spent together. 

“How did this happen?” he groaned. 

“Oh I’m pretty sure it was that second bottle of wine,” Merlin growled. “She can’t hold her drink, I’ve warned you about that. Probably the oysters your father ordered at the restaurant too.”

There was the unmistakable sound of a creaking bed from the next room. The creaking was in a steady rhythm, getting faster and faster. There were other noises too, sighs and moans of pleasure. Arthur felt a bit sick.

Merlin rolled over and thrust the pillow at Arthur. “Smother me! End it now! I can’t ever look at either of them again. Consider me an orphan, Arthur! An orphan!”

“You think I like listening to that either?” Arthur retorted. 

“Your father’s some sort of gigolo!” 

“Your mother wasn’t exactly fighting him off. Didn’t you hear her earlier? ‘Oooh Uther, it’s so rare to find a genuine gentleman these days’.”

“She doesn’t sound like that!”

“Yes she does!” Arthur was quite proud of the high-pitched Welsh accent he’d produced.

“Hmph! Not very gentlemanly to shag her on a first date, is it?”

Arthur pouted. “I don’t think it’s a first date. I heard them talking earlier. Those business trips he’s been claiming he’s been going on every weekend… they were to Wales.”

“What? But she’s been busy every weekend with her Women’s Institute… oh. She lied, didn’t she?” 

“Yeah. You did say at the time you didn’t think it was her sort of thing.”

“She even sent me a pot of jam!” Merlin wailed. 

“Sneaky.”

Merlin glared at him. “She’d never lie to me! That’s your father’s influence.”

“Are you calling my father a liar?”

“Yes! And you mocked my mum’s accent!”

There was an extra-loud creak from the other bedroom, and then the headboard started to bang in a steady rhythm against the wall. Merlin stopped arguing, gave a little scream and covered his ears. Arthur wished they could both go deaf.

“Can we go to a hotel?” Merlin begged. “Please, Arthur, I don’t think I can ever have sex in this room ever again. And I want a shower. I feel dirty, and not in a good way!”

The grunts and moans from next door were getting louder. 

“I’m going to be sick,” Merlin whined. “This is horrible.”

Arthur quickly hopped out of bed, grabbed the waste paper basket and shoved it at Merlin. “In there, not our bed!”

The headboard-rattling continued frantically for a few more moments, paused, thumped one last time, and then stopped. If they’d had any doubts about what had just happened, those were removed by the accompanying appreciative noises that Hunith was making.

Merlin still looked a bit nauseous but the horror next door did seem to finally be over.

Arthur attempted to cuddle up to Merlin, but his partner was having none of it. “Oh come on, Merlin, we should pay them back in kind.”

But Merlin curled away from him miserably, still clutching the bin. “I’m going to be a monk,” he mumbled. “No more sex ever. Scarred, Arthur. Scarred for life.”

Merlin would get over it. And as there was nothing left to lose, because he was obviously not going to get laid that night, Arthur gave voice to what he was thinking.

“Well, sounded like my dad’s still pretty fit,” he smirked. “You’d better hope it’s hereditary.”

Merlin gave a cry of distress and sat up, glaring at him. “Gross!”

“Your mum doesn’t seem to think so!”

Merlin grabbed the nearest pillow, and started to hit Arthur with it. Arthur retaliated, because nobody was going to beat him at anything and soon there was a full-on fight going on that ended with Merlin shrieking and begging for mercy.

Well, Arthur thought later, Merlin snuggled up against him and half-asleep, at least he’d taken Merlin’s mind off their parents.

 

\---

 

Breakfast the following morning was the worst. 

Arthur and Merlin had tried to get up early and sneak out of the house before their parents emerged. It wasn’t to be. Hunith and Uther were sitting at the breakfast bar in matching white bathrobes, eating toast and drinking coffee. Merlin turned round and would probably have left the room, but Arthur wasn’t facing that alone so he steered his boyfriend back towards the kitchen.

“Morning boys,” Hunith smiled. “Sleep well?”

“Bit difficult,” Merlin told her. “I’m mentally scarred by the noises through the wall!”

“Poor baby,” Hunith cooed, holding out her arms and even Arthur could see she didn’t look at all genuine. “I’m sure it was horrible. It’s not nice to hear such things, is it?”

“Especially not when it’s from guests,” Uther agreed. “Very ill-mannered of us.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His father seemed far too bright and smiley. Perhaps the aliens had landed and taken the original away. 

“Very,” Arthur agreed.

“Perhaps a truce then, when we stay with you boys.”

That sounded horribly as if this was going to be a permanent thing rather than some brief affair, but Arthur let that pass. “Yes, please.”

“Good. That’s settled,” Uther told them. “And the same in reverse of course when you stay with us.”

“What?” Merlin had found his voice again.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Hunith patted his cheek fondly. “I’m glad you’re so happy with Arthur, but really it’s deeply disturbing to have to listen to the pair of you at top volume, all night, every time you stay.”

“I’m sure you understand,” Uther continued, spreading butter on his toast. “TMI is I believe the term you like to use.”

“We could always demonstrate again tonight, if it wasn’t clear,” Hunith offered generously. “Now, would you boys like some toast?”

Merlin gaped at his mother in horror. Arthur wondered whether they could divorce their respective parents…

 

 

Entry 6

 **Title:** Much ado about siblings  
**Warnings:** Half-sibling incest, accidental voyeurism, pining, angst  
**Pairing:** Arthur/Morgana

"Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher,” Merlin exclaimed, feigning exasperation.

"A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours,” Morgana countered, her voice icy.

"Let's stop there for a moment,” Gwaine interjected, flashing his disarming director's smile. "Morgana, you're supposed to communicate anger and hurt at his past behaviour, not act as if you want to burn him alive!"

Morgana glared at him, but nodded acceptance of his critique. 

Gwaine gestured, addressing Pendragon Ltd's assembled amateur actors. "Great progress, good job, everyone. Let's take a short break, yeah?”

Arthur, their play's dashing Don Pedro, left the platform-turned-temporary-stage with Leon and Elyan in tow. Merlin made to follow them when Morgana intercepted him. "A word in private, if I may? Let's get some proper tea.” 

At the downstairs self-service coffee bar, Merlin watched as the ever-efficient Morgana conjured up vegan chai latte for them both. 

"I wanted to clear the air,” she explained, handing Merlin his steaming mug. "You're an excellent Benedict. Easily the best actor among us. It's not your fault that I'm short-tempered.”

"Oh. I thought you hated me!” Merlin blurted.

"My acting probably projects... certain personal issues of mine. I'm sorry, Merlin. I like you. You're nice. And unlike the other men, you consistently look me in the eye when I'm in costume."

Merlin grinned, relieved. He took her meaning. Their costumes were revealing; tight breeches for the men, extremely low-cut dresses for the women. 

"Gwaine told Gwen she'd better ensure her costume designs distracted the audience from the dodgy acting," Merlin admitted.

"Dodgy acting?" Morgana gasped, mock-horrified. "And here I'm working my derrière off to be a believable Beatrice. The nerve!” 

Merlin relaxed, sipping his chai. "What made you volunteer for the play, anyway? You Pendragons must have more important things to do. Corporate takeovers, dinners with the rich and famous, that sort of thing?”

"I volunteered because Arthur did." Morgana grimaced. "There's a certain rivalry between us, hadn't you noticed?” 

Her eyes narrowed. "And if you are clueless as to why my darling brother volunteered, your obliviousness truly knows no bounds.” 

Merlin frowned, confused. Morgana drained her mug, checking her phone. "Time to go.”

* * *

Merlin appreciated Morgana giving him a better understanding of herself and Arthur. Sibling rivalry could be brutal. It explained the constantly strained set of Arthur's jaw, the simmering fury in Morgana's green eyes.

Gwaine finally called it a night. Merlin was tired. Stopping by his desk to check a few emails, he realized he'd forgotten his backpack upstairs.

The large auditorium was silent and dim. He walked quietly through the gloom towards the dressing rooms. Suddenly he heard someone talking near the stage. 

"It's impossible now." It was Arthur. Speaking loudly, he still sounded choked. 

"No, it's not." Morgana's voice.

"We must forget and move on," Arthur said. 

There was no audible reply.

Merlin wanted to leave them to it, but he needed his things. Hoping to sneak by without being noticed, he tip-toed forward. 

Then he caught sight of them in the faint light from the backstage area, and stopped short. They were kissing; - kissing passionately, the way lovers do. Morgana had her arms around Arthur's neck, and he was holding her tight. Her bodice had been pulled askew, and her bared breasts, elevated by the tight corset, pressed against Arthur's chest.

Merlin swallowed, preparing to retreat. He couldn't bear for them to know he had witnessed this.

Arthur tore himself from Morgana's lips. "Stop!" 

Morgana shook her head. "I loved you long before father dropped my paternity bombshell on us. I won't change. I can't." 

"Morgana..."

"You want me. I want you." 

Clawing for a stronger hold on Arthur, Morgana accidentally scratched his neck. His reaction was part defence, part attack. Gripping her firmly, he twirled them both around so that he held her pushed up against the wall. 

"Let's not do this," he grunted.

"Let's," Morgana countered, spreading her legs. "You're rock hard. Don't be such a hypocrite."

Something snapped. Letting go of her hands, Arthur hiked her higher, pulling her rumpled skirt up and out of the way. Burrowing between her full breasts, he placed sloppy-wet kisses on her pale skin, her peaked nipples. Morgana moaned, eagerly tugging his breeches down, her legs coming up to embrace Arthur's hips. They were both of them breathing as if they'd run many miles.

Merlin was unable to move or to look away. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet.

Arthur's firm buttocks tightened and released, clenching in a fast-paced rhythm as he started thrusting. Morgana clung to him, gasping, goading him on, kicking his thighs, welcoming every move.

They didn't take long to finish. 

Morgana's feet reconnected with the floor. She laughed, a small and brittle sound. "God, we're such a mess!"

Arthur followed her through to the dressing rooms, his expression morose. As the door closed behind them, Merlin heard his voice. "That was the final time, I swear. We're done."

By the time he reached the safety of an empty men's room, Merlin was so hard that he could hardly walk. He tugged on his cock and came almost at once, imagining himself and Arthur - just like that.

Exhausted, he waited half an hour before collecting his backpack. The makeshift theatre was deserted. There was no sign of the recently enacted family drama.

* * *

Their 'Much Ado' premiere proved a huge success. Wit, charm and villainy flowed with ease across the scene.

There was only one minor hitch.

Arthur's Don Pedro proposed to Beatrice. "Will you have _me_ , lady?”

Morgana was supposed to reject him in a teasing tone, but instead went silent, pausing as if earnestly making up her mind. 

Merlin held his breath, sensing the tension of a personal breaking point.

Morgana sighed in something akin to defeat. "No, my lord," she said at last with finality, her face sad. "Not unless I might have another for working-days. Your grace is too costly to wear every day." 

 

 

Entry 7

 **Warnings:** Public sex, a bit of exhibitionism/voyeurism  
**Pairing:** Morgana/Gwen

The feast on Avalon Delta was different than those served on terra planets. In a space station, even a fortress as glorious as Avalon Delta, food was monitored heavily. The workers received their fair share, same as the Knights who protected the fortress and even the royalty who ran the operation.

Princess Morgana of the Pendragon Dynasty, from the terra planet Camelot, ran the station with disciplined efficiently. Her knights, many of whom she trained alongside, were some of the best in the galaxy. Her first knight, Lady Guinevere, was as skilled with a phaser as she was with a sword. She was lovely as she was strong, and truly a sight to behold. It was rare to see her in anything but her black uniform, but tonight she had traded in her Knight robes for a flowing lilac dress with a long slit up to her thigh.

For the feast, Morgana had decided to wear something daring, white pants and a navy double breasted jacket. Her hair was pinned high in the back with loose curls hanging down.

Gwen interlocked her arm with Morgana's as they entered the ballroom, "You look like a true general, your highness."

"And you look nothing like my First Knight.” Morgana answered, “Though you look absolutely delicious."

"Hush" Gwen smiled nonetheless. "We are here for the feast."

"Maybe I'd like to eat you instead."

"After."

"I'll hold you to that."

Morgana led them to their seats at the high table. Morgana welcomed the Knights, visiting royalty from nearby planets, and honored guests from local space stations.

They tucked in to meat from the beasts of terra Camelot, the wine from Avalon’s moon and all delicacies the Space Trade had to offer. As the feast carried on, Morgana kept her eye on her Knight. Gwen looked particularly perfect and Morgana couldn’t help but touch her. Just light touches: her arm brushing Gwen’s on the armrest, a hand to her brow to push back a rogue curl, or her fingers skimming Gwen’s as they lifted up her wine. 

Then Morgana made her move. They were at the very back of the room, so there wasn’t anyone to see them from behind or to their sides. The table cloth hid them to anyone who would look behind to look at the Princess and her Knight. She placed her hand on Gwen’s thigh, the slit in her dress allowing her to touch skin immediately. Gwen stilled but did not tell Morgana to move.

She circled the skin for a while, just to feel Gwen’s muscles move beneath her touch. 

Then Morgana slipped her hand past Gwen's dress, in between her thighs where she was practically radiating heat. Morgana’s finger tapped idly as she neared closer until she felt the fabric of her panties.

Gwen gasped. It was the first reaction Morgana had pulled from her. She looked over to see that Gwen was sipping her wine and not looking at Morgana. There was a small smile on her lips.

Morgana held back her own smile and continued to pleasure her First Knight. For a moment she fiddled with the panties, just pressing down before pulling back. As she pressed her finger down further she felt the fabric getting wet.

Gwen hitched her hips minutely. Even Morgana could barely tell.

“Your highness! Would you care for some music? My bard is from terra Essetir and knows songs from across the galaxy.”

The visiting King from one of the local Albion planets was looking at her. He didn’t have a clue that her fingers were dipping into her First Knight’s panties right next to her. Morgana smiled graciously and answered, “That would be wonderful. Please let us hear him.”

As the bard and his musician set themselves at the center of the room, all eyes followed. The music was lovely, but she doubted that if someone had been asked, Guinevere wouldn’t have a clue what had been playing. 

With her panties pushed aside, Morgana slipped her finger down and into her slick. Gwen whimpered but it was droned out by the Bard’s song. She pressed her palm to Gwen’s clit, pressing idly as she used her other hand to sip her wine. She watched the Bard play his song about traveling through space and falling in love with a girl from an aqua planet.

As the song continued, Morgana pressed down harder and moved her fingers faster. As the music hit its crescendo, so did Gwen. She gasped, “Stars.” She jerked and Morgana felt her as her fingers were squeezed mercilessly.

Morgana wiped her hand on her napkin as if she had just finished eating. She sipped her wine, looking over at Gwen, who was flushed darkly and looking a bit like she wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. 

Morgana smiled and turned back to the bard, which is when she saw Princess Vivian watching them with wide eyes. When Morgana made eye contact with her, giving her a knowing grin, Vivian shuttered in her seat with release.

 

 

Entry 8

 **Warnings:** none  
**Pairing:** Gwaine/Morgana (not the rarest of rarepairs, but rare for me)

"For the record," Morgana said, something akin to contempt dripping from her words. "I think you're one of the most obnoxious men I've ever encountered." By the final word, though, there was the faintest hint of fondness.

Gwaine laughed at her, standing in his doorway. Even drenched in rain, her very expensive belstaff hanging off her like a dead animal, and her high heels looking out of place in the small flat, Morgana was one of the most imposing women he'd ever seen. But he knew her intimately enough that even she was not above earning a laugh.

"That's fair enough, sweetheart. Why don't you take off your things?"

"Is that a come-on or a kind suggestion?"

Morgana stripped off her coat, tossing it over the back of Gwaine's dingy couch. Her silky blouse followed immediately after. They'd been walking home from pub night when they were caught in a rainstorm. For the first part of the walk, Morgana refused the umbrella out of pride, but then it blew away anyway. Gwaine only stayed dry because his beat up jacket could take most any weather when used as a makeshift umbrella.

"Both." He shrugged, then promptly pulled off his own shirt. "We both know we cut out of pub night at the same time for the same reason."

They had, she couldn't deny it. It wasn't a too frequent thing, or it didn't start that way, but now it was more or less an itch that needed scratching. The arrangement was simple enough: two not-quite friends enjoying each other's company then going their own way the next morning. Morgana did not need to answer his redundant question and chose not to, instead walking him backwards towards the dingy couch until he got the hint to lay back on it.

He shot her a cheeky grin and then pulled her more or less on top of him. It was a few messy moments of kissing and groping hands. (Gwaine's under her bra and on her breast and her own in his front pocket, where she knew he kept at least one spare condom at all time.) When she moved to straddle him properly, her skirt hiked up just so to make it clear she was not wearing knickers and he brought a hand further down, but she playfully batted it away.

She was much more intent on unfastening his trousers, deciding not to comment on the novelty boxers as she pulled out his cock, stroking him to hardness before rolling on the condom.

"I'm assuming you're ready," she said, leaning down for a filthy kiss. He responded by biting her lower lip and grabbing a handful of bum. (The other hand had resumed its place up her bra, teasing a nipple between his fingers.)

Morgana braced herself against his chest as she sank down onto him. The hand on her bum settled instead on her hip, guiding her as she rode him. Gwaine was a man who liked many things, and giving over control happened to be one of them. Later, if she allowed, he'd take her to his room and eat her out until his jaw ached, but for now he showed his appreciation by moving his hand between her legs, seeking out her clit and rubbing against it.

They kept up their steady rhythm for as long as he could hold out, not a word filling the air but the sounds of pleasure as they did. Morgana clenched around him as he hit his release, and she gave him the courtesy of not commenting on the undignified grunt he made as he did. After, she rose up and slid off of him before pulling off the condom and leaning in to kiss him hard.

"Up here," he said gently, his voice surprisingly hoarse. She looked so hot, with her skirt hiked up completely. She unhooked her bra, gracefully tossing it aside before moving up. She knew by now exactly what he was asking to do and didn't hesitate to move until she was over him, more or less sitting on his face.

Gwaine started to lick and suck and tease in earnest, tasting where he had just been, prodding inside of her. Morgana used one hand to brace against the sofa and brought the other hand up to tease her breast, flicking and gently pulling at the nipple. As he pulled her closer to the edge she had to join her hand with the other on the edge of the couch. Her orgasm was loud and a bit uncouth, but she was beyond caring.

Disentangling herself from that position was a bit odd, but she managed, standing and pulling her skirt down, as though that mattered.

"I think we should take this to the bedroom, don't you think?" She said, giving him a wink. "I think I need about...three more orgasms and then it's time to bring out the strap-on."

"Yes, ma'am." Gwaine was standing and fumbling out of his jeans and pants, kicking them off along with his shoes within seconds. He obediently followed the soft click of Morgana's high heels across the laminate floors.

 

 

Entry 9

 **Title:** Cheeky Emrys  
**Warnings:** Time travel, self-sex, older Emrys in the visual appearance of Nathan Appleby  
**Pairing:** Merlin/Emrys

“Merlin…” 

He opened an eye. “Not you again.” 

“Let’s play.” 

“So, what, you can manifest now?” Merlin saw the very vision of himself, older, with longer hair and a beard, ogling him seductively. He’d had dreams and visions of Emrys before, of his other self, the one who would take over. He hadn’t known that Emrys was such a particular personality. 

“Do you like to see who you will become?” Emrys pulled at the blankets of his narrow bed above Gaius’ workshop. They were both naked and their flesh almost melted together. 

Merlin blushed. The older version of himself looked familiar, but also not. Broad, his hair was much better taken care of in wide curls framing his face. Emrys offered a cheeky smile with small crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his blue eyes. Merlin felt a hand traveling up over his thigh. 

“Stop!” 

“Relax, I’m you. This is perfectly fine,” Emrys whispered, while his fingers stroked his swelling cock. His own hand, except it wasn’t. 

“Shut up, go away.” But he reveled in the feeling and Emrys knew it. His struggle only resulted in Emrys pushing a thigh between his legs, and Merlin’s hands getting pinned against the headboard with magical chains. He saw the gold in Emrys’ eyes. He trusted magic, but he wasn’t certain he trusted Emrys. 

“Silly boy,” Emrys said, his full lips accentuated by the dark beard surrounding them. “You enjoy this all the time. This is just the first time I’m here. Relax.” 

“Untie me.” 

“Later.”

The hand over his shaft and balls knew exactly how to please him in long tight strokes and gentle handling. Merlin was rock hard and desperately turned on by Emrys’ touches. He tested his restraints and moaned when Emrys pinched and twisted one of his nipples cruelly, sending a wave of pleasure straight to his groin.

“I’ve never…” 

“Shh.” 

Merlin bucked against the mattress, trying to move against Emrys’ hand to take his pleasure. 

But Emrys had plans. The hand left and Merlin whimpered. Emrys cupped his cheek and kissed him, forcefully, heated, full of his own passion. Merlin thought he was talented. He’d never been kissed like this before, lustful, lazy, and wet. The beard was rough against his chin and he felt Emrys’ moustache scrape over his upper lip.

Emrys climbed over him and Merlin saw what he would look like in… how many years? The smirking man was still lean, but had clearly defined lines of muscles and a strong V-line over his hips. Merlin though he shouldn’t be so aroused by looking at himself, but there was something so intimate about this that he couldn’t shake it off. 

“So young, so supple,” Emrys mirrored in appreciation. 

“Why?” Merlin asked, his throat dry. 

“Because he will expect you to know what to do. And you won’t have anyone else that shows you how, until he calls you the first time.” 

“Who?” 

He got no reply. He didn’t need to. Emrys leaned down and took him into his mouth. Merlin arched his back wantonly and felt his cock twitch. Emrys sucked him expertly and stared up through his lashes before letting go. Not enough, Merlin thought, it wasn’t nearly enough. 

“You will have to wash daily and keep all your hair short. Finger nails too. He will call you soon, I forgot which day. And you will be ready to please him.” 

Merlin turned his head away, hoping to hide his blush. It was all for nothing, Emrys knew him, Emrys was him. Except different. Merlin would strip himself behind and become Emrys, he knew that now. 

“Mmmf,” he moaned and panted while Emrys spread his legs slowly, sensually. Merlin was on full display with nothing to hide. 

“You will learn to be quiet and you will reveal your magic. Don’t tell Gaius. Ever.” 

Merlin gasped as a finger pressing down below. He wanted more touching first, more hands on him. Emrys knew his thoughts and conjured up magical hands. They were his own, nearly transparent, and they reached out for his skin, stroking and groping his body all over, warm and firm. Two of them grabbed the insides of his knees to pull his legs further apart. Merlin bit his lip to stop himself crying out. 

Fingers slicked up by magic pushed into him, slowly at first but quickly prying him open with more force. Merlin couldn’t keep his eyes off Emrys. 

“Do you want this?” 

“Y-yes,” Merlin whispered and swallowed. The hands on his skin stroked with soothingly and one of them closed around his cock, working him slowly and firmly. 

“He will ask you every time.” 

“Uhnn,” Merlin threw his head back, feeling more fingers. 

Emrys positioned himself and pushed in. Merlin didn’t feel prepared and he nearly cried out, but he remembered his lesson. Four of the hands gripped his hips and shoulders, keeping him steady while Emrys mounted him and pushed in deep. 

“He will have others. He will marry.” 

Merlin felt tears stinging his eyes from the penetration, the heat, and from Emrys’ words. Slowly Emrys began to fuck him, sighing in appreciation of seeing his younger self so helpless below him. 

“He will always come back to you, to me.” 

Emrys sped up to a firm rhythm which had Merlin gasp for air and pull on the chains holding his arms. He wanted them freed and projected his thought. He wanted this to stop and he wanted more. Emrys kept his chains in place, and leaned over him to increase his pace. 

They were nose to nose, sharing breath and moaning the same moans. The new angle did something amazing to Merlin’s gut and he fucked up into the hand that pumped him, pulled his legs up around Emrys and came, with a magic hand over his mouth to muffle his cry. Emrys stilled moments later and emptied himself deep inside. 

They practiced together for months before the call came.

 

 

Entry 10

 **Title** : Donkey Punch  
**Warnings** : Bestiality, scat (sorta)  
**Pairings** : Merlin/Donkey

Merlin edged his way slower to the edge of the woods. After spending 200 years as a tree in the shadow of the forest, he had gotten used to the filtered sunlight and his eyes needed some serious adjusting before he could leave this home behind.

He had fled from humanity, because it was too painful to slowly watch his memories disappear as old buildings got tore down to make room for new ones, to see so many faces when none of them were of his friends… of Arthur.

Nature had embraced him fully, offering him protection from his grief, allowing him to stop and pause to become one with his thoughts. Merlin had welcomed it gratefully.

But now it was time to say goodbye. He stepped out from underneath the leaves’ coolness and turned around, mentally saluting all the life within.

Then he turned his back on it, and crossed the meadow bordering the forest. Only to come to an abrupt stop. There, munching on grass, stood Arthur’s reincarnation. It had to be for the coincidence was too great. It had greater likeness to Arthur than any of the humans had ever had, and it just so happened to be standing here right when Merlin had decided to leave the woods? Faith. Besides, it had been a long time since Arthur’s death and surely they wouldn’t keep Merlin waiting for an intolerable long time, like say, for 1500 years?

Merlin approached it as in a daze, and its eyes calmly sought his. When Merlin reached for its ears, it didn’t even so much as twitch them. God, they felt so good, and they looked so much like Arthur’s had. It flicked its tail and brayed encouragingly, and now Merlin was absolutely certain. That braying sounded exactly like Arthur’s. And Arthur had been prone to acting like an ass in his previous life.

Merlin was overcome with lust for his reincarnated lover and moved a hand to where it had lifted its tail, as clear a sign as any.

His hand came away covered in dung, and Merlin shuddered in disgust. Besides, its hole was too high to reach easily with his cock, so even without the shit, that operation would have been a no-go.

Petting the donkey with the hand covered in shit, he felt his way towards its belly with his other one, finding a large cock. Arthur had always been well endowed.

Opting out of risking his life by crawling between a donkey’s legs, Merlin started composing a spell that would make him able to take the donkey’s cock, all the while squeezing his own.

When he was sure he had found the right combination of words, he took a step away from the donkey and uttered them.

The hooves moving towards him over the grass were so loud they could have been steps on stone. Merlin turned his head, but froze when he saw the donkey head straight for his ass. Instead he shook his tail softly and waggled his butt invitingly.

That was all the invitation it needed, and it leant back on its hind legs, resting his front legs on Merlin’s back, nudging with his cock at Merlin’s hole.

It took several tries to get it in, but when it found the right angle, it shoved in with a mighty push.

Merlin brayed loudly. In the distance, another donkey brayed back.

The donkey butted his head into Merlin’s back, urging him to stay still. When Merlin complied, it started fucking him in earnest.

Merlin’s cock, usually a brave average, swung heavily between his legs, unsheathed and ready to mount. But Merlin would not have given up being the one mounted for any jenny in the world. He was finally being claimed again by Arthur!

The weight on his back was heavy, and so much like Arthur’s when he’d pushed Merlin into the bedding, draping his own body over Merlin’s before fucking him like an animal.

They really were fucking like animals, and Merlin took the pounding, braying Arthur’s name.

The donkey’s cock was hard and unyielding in his ass, moving with a speed that had Merlin going crazy. He stood trembling on his legs as his cock dripped fluid all over the flowers underneath him.

Merlin hung his head in submission, feeling protected by the warmth at his back, the almost-painful gripping of the other donkey, who clung on for dear life. His hips twitched, seeking even more friction, and the donkey head-butted him again. Arthur, always so bossy, had used to tie him to the bed, torturing him with touch all over his body, drawing away every time Merlin pushed up into the touch, desperate for release.

Just like then, Merlin now came untouched, his cock spasming until it had got the last bit of semen out. His bowels contracted with the tension of muscles, and the other donkey fell into orgasm with loud braying, scrabbling at Merlin’s back.

As soon as he had painted Merlin’s insides, he got off, and Merlin’s bowels, thoroughly relaxed now, promptly let go off everything inside, sperm and shit alike.

The donkey promptly pissed on it. Ah, and there was the side of Arthur that Merlin knew best: the side of the possessive bastard.

Grinning at him, Merlin swung his tail happily before finding a nice dry spot of grass. Reunions were no donkey work!

 

 

Entry 11

 **Pairings:** Freya/everyone (pretty much, though more specifically Morgana, Uther, Mordred, Elena, Gwen, Gwaine, Vivian and Arthur)  
**Warnings:** Sexual slavery (of sorts), space AU, a little age difference.

Freya wakes up to the now familiar beep of someone requesting entry to the ship. 

She yawns and stretches, makes sure her skin is slowly warming up after her long sleep before she goes to meet whoever is waiting in the airlock. It’s strange how used to this she’s become.

There’s a woman standing there. She looks confident with her tight clothes and a gun strapped to her thigh. Her long hair that gets all sweaty as she fucks Freya with a strap-on and then gets herself off as she with eager eyes watches Freya tremble with pleasure. 

But when she leaves, Freya is alone again.

She punches in the code on the keypad as she lays down on the metal slab and prepares herself for another dreamless sleep.

\---

The next time, it’s a man. He’s older, comes across as strict and demanding at first, but turns out to be a surprisingly gentle lover. Freya caresses his hair, because she senses he needs to feel her touch more than she needs his. With light hands, she comforts him for hours, long after they’ve both come.

When he’s paid and left, she takes a few minutes to walk up to the control room and look out the big window there. Looking out onto the stars above, she sits there until the man’s ship has dislodged from hers and she’s once again on her own.

\---

Once, it’s a young man who reminds her so much of… someone - someone her mind skirts over, like a memory that’s just out of reach - that she almost cries. 

But since her current body can’t produce tears, she focuses on how the boy works his tongue into her cunt and sucks and licks as if he’s life depends on it - so very eager to please, like he’s trying to make something up to her. The moan she lets out isn’t even fake as her body remembers a different life. A different time.

\---

The woman who spills jiva juice on her makes Freya laugh and it breaks up the strange monotony of waking up, fucking, and going back to sleep. Freya grabs the long blonde hair and pulls the woman in for a sloppy kiss with too much tongue but very soft lips. She allows herself to linger a moment before getting back to business.

When the woman leaves, Freya goes back to the slab and punches the familiar numbers. Still, this time, she prays for dreams.

\---

The curly-haired woman is shy but sweet. The rogue guy with the big infectious grin is very rough, but it’s exactly what Freya needs. The snotty lady with her fancy dress is fun to make whimper and beg to come, and that’s exactly what Freya does.

She looks up into the vastness and tries to remember.

\---

She stays awake longer and longer. There’s darkness outside the windows, and Freya longs with her entire being for something she’s not sure what it is.

The memory is too old but still too new, still too fragile in her mind, and Freya’s mourns something, someone, she can’t quite remember.

The stars move but she doesn’t.

\---

The last visitor doesn’t want her body, doesn’t want to squeeze her small breasts, stick his dick into her or paint her pale body with his come. 

Instead, he gives her a hug and doesn’t let go. They end up spooning and it makes Freya warm in a way she hasn’t been for a very long time. She gently caresses the man’s neck and spends a long time slowly playing with the blond, short hair. It’s something about him that makes her chest ache.

“The stars,” she says.

It’s not a question, but the man seems to understand anyway. He nods, but doesn’t turn towards her. 

“Yeah, he’s out there, somewhere,” he says.

She breathes out, slowly. “Oh.”

He picks up her right hand from where it rests on his chest and kisses her fingertips, one by one, taking his time.

“And we’ll find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and show your love :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold the porny entries for week two of the Pornalot fest!
> 
> Each entry has individual warnings but they have not been mod-checked so proceed at your own risk.
> 
> Please vote for your favourite entries! All you need is an LJ account :D You can vote [HERE](http://pornalot.livejournal.com/4473.html)

Entry 12

 **Warnings:** None  
**Pairing:** Merlin/Morgana

She always makes him ask for it.

'I just fancy it, ok? Fuck, I don't know.' Merlin scowls. 'Look. Do you want me to eat you out or not?'

Morgana laughs. 'Hey, I'm not complaining,' she says. 'What movie do you want to watch?'

'Anything,' Merlin says. He shrugs, like he doesn't care. Like he doesn't need this, or at least, something like this. 'Not as if I'll be watching, is it?.'

She looks at him shrewdly. 'Been a long week, huh?'

'Been a long ... well, you know.' He sighs. 'I just want to not think - not remember - for a while.'

Morgana ruffles his hair. 'Gimme ten minutes, then.'

***

When Merlin sees her on the couch, skirt so short he can see the lacy tops of her stockings, with her knees demurely but not quite perfectly together and her ankles, in those fuck-me boots, edging apart, he goes down on autopilot. He would have - has - dropped to his knees for her in a crowded street, a banqueting hall …

_... a cave, a throne room …_

'C'mere,' she says softly, beckoning him forwards and spreading her legs for him. She hooks one knee over his shoulder as soon as he's within range, and pulls him close.

'No knickers?' he asks, looking down, then up at her. He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and she smirks at him.

'Do I need them?'

'Suppose not.'

She picks up the remote. 'Are you ready?'

He's been ready for what feels like days. 'Yeah,' he says, hands twitching by his sides. Something occurs to him. 'Do you want to come?' he asks. He can guess the answer, though.

Her smile is crooked and calculating. 'Later,' she says, stroking his cheek. 'I want you to make this last. Can you do that for me?'

Merlin shivers. 'Do my best.'

'Good boy.' She catches her fingers in his hair and pulls him down. He opens his mouth, takes a breath, and closes his eyes.

He starts slow, just long, lingering touches of his tongue, softly as he can. She's got no middle gears, Morgana - either she's on a hair trigger, or she takes ages to get off, sometimes can't at all. Right now she's calm, running her fingernails gently over his scalp, over and over, and murmuring warm things at him he can barely hear. The lace on her thigh-highs is scratchy against the skin of his cheeks and his throat when he pushes forward.

She tastes of slick sweet metal, somehow. He likes it. He likes it a lot, doing this, head between her legs and her calf muscle hard across his spine, just enough pressure that he knows she's keeping him exactly where she wants him. Sometimes he wonders if maybe he likes this _best_ , of all the things they do, although he wouldn't tell her that.

He doesn't even know what movie she's picked, although there's laughter. And it takes him God knows how long to realise he's clasped his hands behind his back. That's ok though, she's got him caught, won't let him fall.

It's the strange reality of this life they lead, that he can trust her with his body while he can't trust her with his secrets, but they've always been this way.

His jaw gets sore from being open so long, his face feels wet and sloppy and he doesn't care, just loves the way she's starting to quiver against him when he works his tongue carefully in places he knows she's sensitive.

Her thighs tighten and he realises she must be getting close despite his best efforts at stringing this out. He's close, too - hard as steel in his jeans, squirming in the vice-grip she's got him in.

He feels her other foot nudge in between his knees and up to his crotch.

'Get me off,' she orders him. She pushes her leather boot up against the throbbing weight of his cock and at the same time, digs her nails into his scalp. He gasps against her at the sting and the pressure, and starts to work his tongue on her clit faster, a proper rhythm now instead of a languid pulse. Just how she used to like it when the skirts he had to duck under were heavy, long things with petticoats and stays, and the shoes he rubbed off against were leather slippers.

He comes now just like then, twitching and raw in his pants, when she cries out and clutches him to her, pulling him close for a dizzy, breathless second buried in her cunt. He floats, breathless and sated by the aeons-old familiar taste of her, the weightless feeling of orgasm just as heady as when he was young and stupid and thought it meant something, to be strong and yet serve someone else.

He still plays at it, like this, and it hasn't lost its strange thrill, even though it's lost its deeper savour.

Morgana doesn't believe in servants and masters. She pulls him to bed like she's his anchor, and when he wakes from wherever it is he goes, they're naked, and she's holding him as if she might lose him too, somewhere in the dark.

'They are coming back right?' she asks.

And like every other night for fuck knows how long, he pulls her back into the shadowed curve of his body and says, 'Of course they are. We just have to wait a little bit longer.'

 

 

Entry 13

 **Warnings:** Barebacking/unsafe sex. Faintly implied dub-con-ish magical realism, but only if you squint.  
**Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur

The desert is white with heat. Arthur is trying to pay attention while Emrys lectures him about the value of a rare pottery shard they found this morning, but instead all he can focus on is the droplet of sweat currently making its way down Emrys’ neck, and the uncomfortable way his shirt is sticking to his body. Emrys, too, seems distracted — he keeps pausing unnecessarily to look up at Arthur, as though losing track of the conversation. He holds the earthenware fragment out for examination and Arthur bends close as if to inspect it, but in reality his eyes track the pale blue confluence of veins that meet at the base of Emrys’ wrist like rivers. Somewhere there is a tick-tick-tick of dung-beetles in the sand. The tent is stifling.

 

Outside, heat haze shimmers over the camp like a veil, and the horizon presses close against them. It makes Arthur think of his mother, the light dresses she used to wear when she came out to the digs with his father, the way they’d settle softly around her body when she bent to sift through the sand with her fingers. That was many years ago now, before she died, before Arthur was sent away to grow up under the pale anaemic sun of her native country, but whenever he thinks of home this is what he remembers: the land, its terrible thirst.

 

It’s too hot to eat. At midday, Arthur calls a halt and lets the men retreat to the shade to wait it out, leaving orders for them to return to the dig at dusk. He catches Emrys’ eye as he turns towards his tent and the linguist follows him without speaking. Arthur begins to undress without looking at him, peeling back the white linen shirt and singlet, pulling off his socks and boots.

“It’s too hot for this,” Emrys says, sliding off his suspenders one by one with small flicks of the elastic.

“It’s always too hot for this,” Arthur says. “It’s a fucking desert.”

Emrys laughs, and steps closer. His hands on Arthur’s skin are cool and make him think of the rushes that crowd around the water at oases, thin and straight-edged. His mouth tastes of spices.

“osculetur me osculo orsi sui qui meliora sunto obera tua vino,” he murmurs in Latin. _Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine._

They use the pitcher of olive oil set aside for cooking, warm from sitting so long in the sun. Emrys’ face is full of concentration as he pours, trailing the thick liquid over Arthur’s back.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Arthur asks, voice muffled from where his cheek is turned into the crook of his elbow. The oil feels strange, but Emrys’ hands are steady on his hips, and Emrys’ thumbs dip into the cleft of his arse and down, and Arthur groans low and deep, not caring that anyone might hear.

 

The language between them has always been that of bodies, which Emrys speaks just as well as words. He uses his fingers on Arthur until he writhes, hair plastered to his forehead and dripping with sweat, then presses into him, pushing past the first instinctive resistance and bottoming out with a slow roll of his hips. For a moment he hangs poised there, panting, his breath a hot whisper against Arthur’s ear: “Still think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Arthur grunts and lifts his hips in answer. “Prove it.”

Emrys bites his shoulder, and Arthur curses as his cock jerks. He was right; it is too hot for this, they’re both of them sticky with it and half crazed, sweat pooling in the crevasses of collar and arse and armpit. Sand is ubiquitous, seemingly attracted by the oil. Close by, the buzz of a fly. Emrys thrusts erratically and without rhythm and Arthur rocks back against him, feels Emrys’ hands slipping over his skin, his own cock fat and hard against his belly leaving a smear of pre-cum.

Oil drips from his back onto the canvas. Emrys says, “Touch yourself. I want to see — “

“Yeah,” Arthur gasps. “Yeah, okay.”

His hand is slick and tight, and Emrys groans above him, fucking him harder now, adjusting the angle so that he hits just the right spot. Pleasure tightens Arthur’s balls and his straining thighs; head down, he feels almost dizzy, the atmosphere hot and thick in the still afternoon. He is close now, his nerve endings buzzing like a swarm of insects. Emrys drives into him once, twice, panting incomprehensible phrases into the back of Arthur’s neck, and then Arthur’s muscles clench as he comes into his own palm, his seed mingling with the oil trickling onto his wrist and down his forearm. Emrys spills into him a moment later, pressing damp kisses against the arch of his back, and they both of them collapse against the floor of the tent, extinguished, quenched, the parched air of the desert wicking the moisture from their skin.

 

At night, the desert turns cold and remote and regains its distance. Arthur sits by the fire and listens to the songs of the working men, a cup of Turkish coffee in his hands, watching the way Emrys sits with his body half turned towards him, firelight catching on the curve of his cheek like a warm crescent echo of the moon overhead. In the morning, the sun will rise, and the heat will begin all over again, but for now the land is quiet and sated, allowing them to rest.

 

 

Entry 14

 **Warnings:** dub-con, a/b/o  
**Pairing:** Merlin/Mordred

They send Arthur and Merlin to find out who, or what, it is.

“It’s probably just a stray omega. Why is everyone so freaked out by this?”

“Because _Merlin_ , it’s not a known scent. When has that ever happened before? A stray omega would still smell like an omega. We’d have no problem bringing them into the city and pairing them.”

A twig snaps up ahead and they both freeze. Arthur lifts his face to the breeze and sniffs -- Alphas have the strongest sense of smell. They were careful to approach downwind of the reported sighting, so Merlin can also catch a faint scent, but it's completely unfamiliar.

“It’s nearby but moving,” Arthur whispers to Merlin. “The scent is . . . unusual. It’s similar to omega, but it’s not right. There’s something wrong with it. We need to get closer.”

Merlin frowns – getting closer could startle whatever it is they’re tracking. Arthur creeps forward and Merlin delays just long enough for his eyes to flash and a silencing charm to settle over them. He follows Arthur then, heart beat rapid with taking the chance to do magic.

They finally catch sight of white flesh amongst the greenery, a body curled over itself, resting.

It looks like a male omega: small frame, delicate face, but the scent is all wrong.

“We need to get closer,” Arthur says. He’s no longer worried – this little omega is no threat to him -- but he is still wary.

They creep closer, close enough now that the boy knows they are there. He hasn't run though, so Merlin lifts the charm with a quick flash of his eyes.

The boy stands, naked and apparently fearless. He has a slight frame, but he is no omega.

“He’s got an alpha cock,” Merlin murmurs, eyes drawn to the huge heavy thing.

“Who are you?” Arthur asks, voice loud and confident.

“Who are you?” the boy responds. He has no clothes, no visible weapons. Just a stick that he will no doubt use to defend himself. He looks tired and starved.

“I am Arthur of Camelot. This is Merlin, my servant.”

“I am Mordred,” the boy says. “I am nobody. Exiled from my people for being bewitched. I have no belongings, no money. If you try to hurt me I will fight back.” With that he lifts the stick and holds it defensively.

“How are you bewitched,” Arthur asks. “Is it your scent? Why is it so different?

At this Mordred takes a fighting stance. “Because I am both.” He stares challengingly.

And it fits perfectly. Merlin draws in a deep breath, can taste the alpha and omega together now that he knows it. His mouth waters.

Arthur doesn’t know what to say. How cruel of those people, to exile a boy for his body. In Camelot all genders are valued, as each has their strengths. “If you genuinely are—” Arthur pauses, not sure what to call the boy. “—an alpha and omega then you are free to come with us to Camelot. You will be safe there.”

“We will have to inspect you though, see if you are speaking the truth,” Merlin says. Arthur turns to Merlin, alarmed that he would insist on seeing something so private. “It is the only way to ensure he is not lying,” Merlin explains. "I can do it," he adds, eager.

Arthur pauses, considers. It is best to be cautious, he thinks, but to _inspect him_. He could be lying though, and then what threat would Arthur be bringing to Camelot. “All right. Merlin, you should . . ..” He gestures vaguely in Mordred’s direction. “More suitable, I think.”

Merlin nods and looks at Mordred, then his eyes drift down to stare at the thick long cock dangling between the boy’s thighs. How hard must he get during heat? Does he need to be bedded? Or does it work differently for him?

“I will only touch you if you allow me,” Merlin says.

Mordred eyes him, then lowers the stick. “Do what you must.”

Merlin licks his lips and nods. Mordred watches him, unflinching as Merlin approaches. Merlin feels weak under the stare. It’s an alpha stare, one meant to dominate an omega. It would have no affect on Arthur, but for Merlin, it’s euphoric.

Merlin turns him around and crouches. He gently palms Mordred’s arse before sneaking two fingers into his crack and stroking up and down to find his hole.

He doesn’t need to search. Almost straight away Merlin finds slick, follows it and ends up with both fingers easing inside of Mordred. Merlin swallows, moves his fingers in and out gently.

“Do you have heats?” he asks.

“Yes,” Mordred says, almost breathes. He sounds affected.

Merlin turns his fingers, finds the glands to milk them and create more slick. Mordred’s body responds, just like Merlin’s does, slick gushing and pooling around his fingers, starting to leak out. Definitely omega, at least here.

“Enough!” Arthur yells. Merlin jolts, then gently draws his fingers out. He stands and returns to Arthur’s side, only then glancing at Mordred. The boy’s cock is sticking out, somehow fatter than before, dark red and needy.

Arthur is flushed too, aroused even though the boy is obviously at least part alpha. It’s confusing, Arthur thinks. No wonder they thought the boy bewitched.

“Come,” he says, trying to retain some semblance of authority. “We will find you clothes, and a suitable mate.” At this Merlin makes a whimpering noise and Arthur raises his eyebrows at him, notices that Merlin looks debauched.

He had wondered what they were going to do with Merlin, disobedient and clumsy omega that he is. Perhaps this was meant to be.

 

 

Entry 15

 **Title:** False Coin  
**Warnings:** dubcon due to power imbalance  
**Pairing:** Arthur/Daegel

The king was retiring to his chambers for the night when his men saw a hooded figure in the hallway. Leon gave the order for the intruder to halt, and with Elyan’s sword at his throat he drew back his hood.

Arthur was surprised to see that it was just a boy, no older than sixteen, with dark hair and blue eyes and a pretty face.

He reminded Arthur of Merlin, a bit younger, but with the same ethereal look.

“What’s your name, boy?” Leon demanded, watching the lad closely for any threat to the king. “And why are you sneaking around the castle after the last bell?”

“My name is Daegel, sir. I meant no harm. I was out catching frogs.”

Leon was inclined to throw him in the dungeons overnight to teach him a lesson, but Arthur intervened.

“He’s just a boy catching frogs. You and I used to do the same thing when we were his age.” Arthur turned to Daegel. “You can go home. But next time be back before curfew.”

The boy mumbled his thanks and fled. Arthur went on to his chambers, which Merlin had decorated with flowers and rose petals so that Arthur and Gwen could have a romantic night.

 _That’s Merlin, always hoping that I will get an heir on Gwen,_ Arthur thought sadly.

And he did his duty with Gwen, knowing as well as Merlin did that Camelot needed an heir. Gwen was beautiful, and he loved her.

If their lovemaking felt perfunctory, it wasn’t her fault.

^_^ ^_^ ^_^

Arthur’s prick was hard when he woke up. His head was tangled with wild dreams about Daegel, and about Merlin, and about a third person who was neither Daegel nor Merlin but a sort of blurred composite of both of them.

^_^ ^_^ ^_^

As he went about his day Arthur had to push away thoughts about Daegel.

He was self-aware enough to know that he wanted Merlin, and that he couldn’t have him. He knew that Gwen guessed he was in love with his manservant, and he couldn’t betray her by taking Merlin to bed, even if that were otherwise possible.

But Daegel…

He was unimportant, and maybe if Arthur took him, it would slake some of his thirst for Merlin.

Arthur was not in the habit of casually bedding servants. In fact, before Gwen he could count his sexual partners on one hand, and that included one clumsy and delicious fumble with Leon when they were fourteen.

When he was caught woolgathering in council twice in the space of an hour, he made up his mind. If the opportunity arose, he would have Daegel, just once.

And then he would get on with his life.

 

Fate seemed to make things easy for Arthur.

He ran into Daegel that night, alone, and asked him if he would accompany him to his chambers to talk about a possible job in the stables.

After tonight, he did not want to run into Daegel much, and the stables would be a good place for him.

The boy was willing to accompany him, and once they were alone and Arthur gave him a cup of wine, he was willing to negotiate. In fact, it was almost too easy.

Arthur saw no point in beating around the bush.

“If you spend the night here and do what I want, I will give you a gold coin, on condition that you never speak of this to anyone, and that you do not expect it to happen again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sire,” the boy answered, looking up at Arthur seductively.

Daegel stood up and began taking off his clothes, and some of Arthur’s guilt was relieved. The youth was not inexperienced, anyway. He reached for Arthur, and Arthur set out the rules.

“No talking and no touching unless I ask for it.”

Daegel was a fast learner, and seemed willing to mold himself into whatever Arthur needed him to be.

Arthur undressed himself and sat on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs wide and beckoning Daegel to kneel between them.

He’d had better blow jobs, even from Gwen, but there was no down side to having your cock sucked. He threaded his fingers through Daegel’s hair as Daegel worked hard for his money, and tried not to think at all.

He pushed Daegel’s head away when he was on the verge of coming, and ordered him to lie face down on the bed. It was easier to pretend if he couldn’t look into his eyes.

Arthur dipped his fingers into a salve Gaius had given him for skin abrasions, and efficiently worked Daegel open. He didn’t want to hurt him, but he didn’t want to make tender love to him either.

When he fucked Daegel, he did it hard, knowing that his anger and frustration had nothing to do with the lad, but taking it out on him anyway.

“Bring yourself off,” he commanded, and the boy did so with a will, reaching underneath his body to grasp his prick. They finished at the same time, with Arthur biting off a word that started with an “M” sound.

Afterward, Arthur gave the boy the promised coin, and warned him again not to speak of the incident to anyone. He wanted to add, “Especially Merlin,” but knew that it would be a mistake to reveal himself in that way.

Daegel left silently, and Arthur lay back on the bed, filled with self-loathing and the knowledge that he wanted Merlin more than ever.

^_^ ^_^ ^_^

Daegel died a few days later, at the hands of yet another assassin that Merlin saved him from, even though Arthur never let on that he knew about Merlin’s powers.

Arthur was sorry for the loss of someone so young. But he was mostly sorry because he saw Merlin shedding tears over Daegel’s body.

 

 

Entry 16

 **Warnings:** None  
**Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur Pendragon

“Took you long enough,” Merlin says the moment Arthur enters their flat. “I thought you’d gotten caught by the police,” he continues. His voice would sound monotonous to others, but Arthur can easily detect the concern hidden beneath Merlin’s calm facade.

“I never get caught, Merlin. Never have, never will,” Arthur replies, grinning, as he throws his rucksack onto the couch in their living room. The jewels he’d stolen clank against each other, but Arthur can’t find it in himself to care. Not right now, with the blood pounding in his ears and the adrenaline rush that has nothing to do with his recent escape from a high-security building, but everything with the little red box with a ring in the pocket of his jacket.

“So you always say,” Merlin says. He doesn’t look up from his laptop screen as Arthur takes off his shoes and walks up to him, leaning down and hooking his chin over Merlin’s shoulder to look at the screen.

Blueprints. Merlin’s probably getting ready for their next heist - one he’ll hopefully be able to participate in if his broken leg heals in time.

Which it will. If it means putting off the next robbery, then so be it.

“And so it shall be,” Arthur answers. “I’d never leave you here by yourself.”

“You wouldn’t be leaving me by myself. I’d probably get caught trying to get you out and then we’d wind up in jail together,” Merlin snipes back, and Arthur chuckles, because if there’s one thing they both know, it’s that there is almost no probability of Merlin getting caught. Not him, nor Arthur - not with all of the preparation they always do beforehand. “So what did you steal?”

Arthur looks away from the blueprints to look at Merlin’s face. His eyes are a little red from staring at the screen for such a long time, and his jaw is clenched.

Arthur takes his chin off Merlin’s shoulder and swirls him around. He ends up kneeling in between Merlin’s legs. Arthur reaches up with one hand to draw Merlin’s face down and get him to finally look at Arthur. The moment his eyes land on Arthur, Merlin looks him up and down, checking for any sign of injuries, and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds none.

“You’re alright, then?” Merlin asks, the corner of his lips twisting into some semblance of a smile.

“Never better,” Arthur replies. “Merlin, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He can feel his voice shaking and hopes to the heavens that Merlin won’t notice it. He gets a raised eyebrow he gets in return.

“Shoot,” Merlin says, eyeing Arthur suspiciously. Arthur takes a deep breath to prepare himself and reaches into his pocket to pull out the little red box that suddenly seems so much heavier than it actually is.

“Marry me,” he says without anything in the way of a preamble. He opens the box, making sure that it’s facing in Merlin’s direction, and shows him the diamond ring he’d stolen only a few hours ago. Merlin stares at it, wide-eyed.

“One would think you had somehow planned that I would break my leg,” Merlin breathes, voice shaky. “This is the reason why you wanted so badly to go alone?” But no, that’s not what Arthur wants to hear (not that he’s hearing much but the blood pounding in his ears at the moment).

“Answer the question,” Arthur begs, moving the box closer to Merlin. He watches as Merlin reaches in, pulls out the ring, and toys with it.

And then he puts it on his finger.

“Well?” Arthur asks, impatient and almost shaking with nerves.

“How could you ever think I would say no?” Merlin asks, smiling at him softly, and Arthur’s nerves finally melt away.

“That’s a yes, then?” he ascertains.

“Yes, of course I’ll marry you!” Merlin shouts, leaning down to kiss Arthur. “This requires a celebration.” He moves to get up, but Arthur pushes him back down into the chair.

“It does,” Arthur replies, throwing the ring box to the side and moving to unzip Merlin’s trouser. “It absolutely does,” he repeats as he carefully moves them down and out of the way, doing the same with Merlin’s boxers. He reaches down to grasp Merlin’s cock and strokes, marvelling in how it grows harder by the second.

“Arthur,” Merlin moans, fingers making their way to Arthur’s hair and twisting in it, bringing with them a wave of delicious pleasure-pain.

“Yes?” Arthur asks, watching as Merlin’s eyes become unfocused and his cheeks red.

“More,” Merlin whispers, looking down at him with hooded eyes. Arthur hums in response, stroking Merlin’s cock a few more times, spreading around the pre-come that is beginning to bead at its tip.

He removes his hands to spread Merlin’s legs and brings his mouth down. He kisses the insides of Merlin’s thighs, listening to Merlin moan and watching him writhe, before he finally moves to his cock.

Arthur’s own erection is tenting his trousers, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He licks a long stripe up Merlin’s hard cock before finally taking it into his mouth. Merlin is pulling at his hair again, trying to get inside Arthur’s mouth more quickly, but Arthur’s grip on his thighs doesn’t allow it.

Arthur slowly bobs his head up and down, watching Merlin through his lashes.

“You look so lovely,” he says, letting up for a split second. “Ever so lovely,” he repeats, once again putting his mouth on Merlin’s cock.

It doesn’t take long for Merlin to finish. A minute, maybe two, and Merlin is coming in Arthur’s mouth. As he pulls out, Arthur swallows everything except for the bit trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Merlin wipes it away with his thumb.

“You, too,” Merlin whispers, leaning down to kiss Arthur again. “You look lovely, too.”

 

 

Entry 17

 **Title:** Splash  
**Warnings:** none  
**Pairing:** Merlin/Mordred

Merlin hadn’t meant to forget his key that morning, but he had. Merlin hadn’t meant to end up drenched in the sudden downpour, and thus ending in at his neighbours, plush towel round his waist, and skin slightly pink from the warmth of the shower he had just taken.

Sparing a quick glance at pile that was his sodden clothes, Merlin hovered indecisively, unsure whether he should leave the bathroom or wait.

The decision was made for him, however as there was a sharp rap on the door, which was opened after only a moment’s pause.

“Merlin?”

Merlin felt his cheeks pinken even more as he met Mordred’s eyes.

There was a moment when time seemed to slow down as Mordred’s eyes dropped from Merlin’s, sliding down his exposed torso.

Opening his mouth to ask if Mordred had any clothes he could borrow, he found himself suddenly at a loss for words as Mordred took a step closer, eyes glued on his lips.

Merlin’s blush spread, warming his chest as well as his nether regions.

Sparing not another moment’s thought Merlin closed the distance between them, pressing a sloppy kiss against Mordred’s lips, feeling as a hand snaked through his damp hair.

They pressed themselves together, Mordred’s clothes sticking to Merlin’s wet skin. Hands began wandering and Merlin’s towel quickly found a new home on the floor.

Vaguely Merlin realised he should probably be embarrassed, but instead his mind was dominated by solely be the need to get Mordred undressed.

With skilled hands, Merlin undid Mordred’s trousers shoving them off of slim hips, before pushing Mordred’s shirt up and out of the way. Both of them were full erect, and as they dived back into a kisses Merlin felt Mordred’s cock press against his thigh, while his own rubbed deliciously against Mordred’s hip.

Merlin trailed his right hand down Mordred’s spine, squeezing the soft skin of his butt, before teasing his fingers in between the cheeks.

Mordred’s first moan was muffled into their kiss, but he pulled back slightly at the second, leaving them both panting.

“Why don’t we get in the shower?” Merlin suggested between breaths, using the break to try and pull himself back under some measure of control.

Mordred blinked almost owlishly for a moment as he processed the suggestion, a grin spreading slowly across his lips as he did so.

“Sounds like a plan.”

They wasted no time, practically hopping into the shower and whacking it on, before Merlin returned to his teasing, pressing one, then two fingers, using the flow of water to try ease the way.

“More, please. More.” Merlin twisted his fingers at Mordred’s pleas, finding that spot that sent Mordred wild.

The water was hot on his skin, chasing away any tension in his body, it felt wonderful, but that feeling was nothing compared to the feeling of Mordred’s hand wrapping around his cock, and stroking in smooth motions.

“Merlin-” Mordred’s call of his name was almost drowned under the falling water, as he came, under the ministrations of Merlin’s fingers in his arse.

Smirking, Merlin used his other hand to press and rub at Mordred’s nipple, sending the over sensitised man even further over the edge.

“I- I, ah, Merlin.” Mordred’s head came to rest against Merlin’s shoulder as he took long breaths, steadying, before he tighten his hand around Merlin, giving a him a tug to distract him.

Hips rocking forwards, chasing more, Merlin tightened his hold on Mordred’s shoulder to keep them from falling on the slippy surface.

Merlin spread his legs slightly, just in time for Mordred to tease his fingers over Merlin’s slit, pushing the foreskin out of the way, in a move that made stars dance before Merlin’s eyes, and his knees feel weak.

He didn’t last long once Mordred set a rhythm, and soon Merlin was coming himself, using Mordred to keep upright, as his knees actually did buckle, and his vision blacked out.

Momentarily disorientated, Merlin used the feeling of Mordred’s hands holding him to bring himself back to reality.

“Fuck.” Merlin gasped out, as his vision cleared, “that was great.”

 

 

Entry 18

 **Warnings:** Mention of canon death; blatant literary allusion  
**Pairings:** Lancelot/Merlin

Lancelot walks down to the lake and stands at the edge of the pier. He'd like to think that it was his own ambition that led him here, but he's beginning to think that there is a force, greater than his own desire, that has brought him to this moment.

The light that flickers in the distance is faint, clouded by the fog of time and memory, and only glows bright when magic shivers in the air.

Lancelot turns to find Merlin behind him, as he knew he would, and draws Merlin in close against his side.

"I can still see it, even now," Merlin says. He holds his hand out as if to reach across Avalon to cup the light in his palm, then lets it fall to his side. "Can you see it?"

Lancelot nods, but he can't see what Merlin sees: his dream fulfilled, his king returned, the world made whole again.

The war changed him; the Great War had changed all of them, and there are still nights when Lancelot wakes, shivering, his throat raw with the cries he could not let out on the battlefield. There is no music loud enough, no whiskey strong enough, no car fast enough, or party big enough that will take those cries from his throat and render him whole again, too.

And Merlin... christ, Merlin. He'd hoped so hard, he'd built his life around that hope, came to the lake of Avalon as the world fell apart and clung to that hope.

"It's in the past, Merlin. You can't--" Lancelot can't say the words, though, and he knows Merlin may never be able to hear them.

"I can. But not in this lifetime, I suppose. Not this future." Merlin watches the light for a few more moments until it glows gold, reflecting the light in his own eyes. When the glow fades into fog, he turns to Lancelot. "Come back to the house. It's quiet now, dinner's over, everyone's gone home. I'd like you to come back with me."

"I will. You know I will." Lancelot brings Merlin's hand to his face and kisses his knuckles.

They walk to the house in silence, hands linked, and Lancelot feels his chest swell each time Merlin holds his hand more tightly. He doesn't want to relive the past, he doesn't want to see Camelot rise again and he doesn't want to be a soldier again. He just wants this: his friend, his first and dearest friend, and now his closest.

When he turns to Merlin as they walk inside, he pulls Merlin into his arms and rests his forehead against Merlin's. "What about now? What if you don't think about the past or the future?"

Merlin closes his eyes and gives a tiny nod. When he opens them, there is a new light in his eyes, as if he's only realized that yes, he can have this moment, he can have it now and not have to look back or forward.

"You've always known me best," he says, and leans up to kiss Lancelot. "You knew me first."

The knowledge thrills through Lancelot as it had in another time, and his desire rushes through him, gold-tinged and molten. He kisses Merlin back once, and again, and so fully that they are both breathless in seconds.

And maybe they can neither let go of the past nor relive it, and maybe Lancelot will always remember the first time he held Merlin in his arms, the first frantic kisses and touches in the hushed afternoon of the quiet castle.

But he'll remember this, too: the gasp of Merlin's breath as he kisses Merlin's, the warmth of Merlin's body against his own, the soft sound of murmured desire against his ear, and the arch of Merlin's body against his own, his hardness, his eagerness.

Lancelot waits until Merlin's satisfied, sated and sleepy-smiling, before he presses inside him. He holds onto that moment as long as he can, and comes with a rush of warmth that blooms from deep inside him, relief and affection and desire.

"Don't leave this time," Merlin says as they curl around each other atop the tangled sheets.

"I have to go to work in the morning." Lancelot kisses Merlin's cheek, then his lips.

"That's not what I mean."

"I know. I won't."

 

 

Entry 19

 **Warnings:** Public sex, incest  
**Pairing:** Morgana/Morgause

The note had come while she’d been adding the final touches to her hair.

Now, Morgana stood in front of one of the hidden servants’ doors leading into the ballroom, her hands folded properly at her waist, just above where the enormous hoops of her skirts flared out. Her dress was red and gold, befitting of a Pendragon daughter, as were the delicate gold chains that twined through her hair to fall over her shoulders and down her back.

Of course, her outward appearance was the only thing about her that was befitting of a Pendragon daughter.

Beneath the hoops and layers of heavy fabrics, Morgana’s legs were spread as wide as she could spread them without giving herself away as not standing like a proper lady should. It was a tight fit, but it allowed just enough space for the person crouching between her legs, having slipped through the servants’ entrance and beneath her skirts from the back, where no one would see.

Fingers dug into Morgana’s thighs just below the curve of her ass, sharp nails biting deliciously into her skin and then dragging down, all the way to her knees. It caused a hitch in her breath, not having expected it, that she quickly disguised as a hiccup by bringing up a hand to her chest and smiling sweetly at the gentleman nearest her, batting her eyelashes.

“Would you be so kind as to fetch me a drink, sir?” she asked, tilting her head down some so she could look up at him through her lashes, as demure as was proper. Once she’d watched him dip a quick bow and hurry off to the other side of the room, where the table full of finger foods and drinks was, she dropped her hand again and closed her eyes just for a moment.

Under her skirts, a tongue pushed up between her legs where she was already wet with the thrill of what they were doing. This, though, she was prepared for and only let it show with a quirk of her lips.

From there, it became quickly apparent that just because she may have been prepared for a few things, she was still left wildly in the dark about what was in store for her. Rather than staying in one spot, hands were constantly straying over her legs, leaving trails of stinging sensitivity in the wake of biting nails. When her ass was squeezed without warning, one cheek in each hand, her breath hitched again, though it was less noticeable than the first time. By then the gentleman had returned, handed her the requested drink, and was now attempting to make pleasant conversation with her. Morgana sipped the wine and nodded along, not hearing a word he was saying.

From her ass, one hand had drifted down between his legs from behind her thigh, and one wicked nail was teasing, ever so gently, dragging along the sensitive skin just inside the lips of her cunt but never touching either of the places she was so desperate to be touched. While the finger teased her, a cheek rubbed high up on the inside of her thigh. It might have been soothing, if not for the teeth that bit down then, on the same place. The sharp sting of pain was entirely opposite of the pleasure that came with the finger finally stroking directly over her cunt, back to front, to press into her clit and moving in a gentle circle.

Morgana couldn’t help but make a quiet noise, and quickly brought up her glass to hide it, changing it into a thoughtful hum of consideration. The gentleman was still speaking to her, and it wasn’t as if she could excuse herself, not when moving would give them away. Her thighs were begin to shake with the effort of keeping her up, however, especially when a mouth finally sealed over her clit and started to suck gently, two fingers sliding far too easily into her cunt with how wet she was.

She couldn’t have lasted long after that, no matter how hard she tried to. Fortunately, the gentleman seemed to have caught on somewhere around the time she’d started to breathe faster and take more frequent sips of her wine that his company wasn’t exactly wanted. There were still dozens of people milling about the ballroom, but no one was paying her any attention.

Well. No one that wasn’t under her skirts, anyway.

The fingers inside her were crooked and rubbing just the right way, pressing against some lovely spot, and that coupled with the suction on her clit was enough to wring a soft cry from her. Morgana muffled it with one hand, not thinking about how odd she must look biting into the flesh of her palm when she was far more focused on remaining on her feet despite the tight, sweet pleasure of her climax. It didn’t fade quickly, as she was rubbed through it, the fingers and mouth gentling and slowing before finally stopping and withdrawing, rather than just pulling away abruptly.

Coming back to herself a little, Morgana realized her glass was dangerously close to spilling red wine onto her dress and righted herself, smoothing down the fabrics of her skirts with her free hands. She was still soaked, could feel her own wetness on the inside of her thighs as she brought her legs together again.

Stepping out from behind her, Morgause came in through the servants’ entrance, looking as fit and dashing as always in a neat suit and with her hair done up in a simple bun. With the exception of a tiny spot of shiny slick on her chin, she seemed entirely put together, and Morgana was quick to wipe away that piece of evidence with a finger.

“As good as you’d hoped?” Morgause asked, her smile small and fond.

Morgana laughed, high and bright. “So much better than, sister. So much better.”

 

 

Entry 20

 **Warnings:** None  
**Pairing:** Merlin/Morgana

As Morgana was sitting there, bound into a tight corset belonging to a dress that had no business being so ugly, while listening to a couple of matrons about a thousand years younger than her discussing the latest _scandal_ , she really missed being an infamous high priestess. They’d have covered in fear before her, or, at least, actually kept their mouths shut for once and not pestered her with their inane chatter and well-meaning advice about a husband who was rarely home and hadn’t even bothered to give her a couple of children to spend her time with. In fact, the last time she had seen him had been three years ago, which was, given their history and immortality, not actually that long, but the matrons didn’t know that and were more than eager to shower her with unnecessary pity.

Which had unfortunately only increased when they’d learned she was barren and had thus been robbed of a woman’s greatest triumph. Oh, if only they _knew_ who they were sitting in front of and how powerful Morgana was. Well, she didn’t know what they would do, but she was sure it would be hilarious.

But alas, those days were over – gone with the common knowledge of sorcery – and instead she contended herself with slightly tightening the matrons’ corsets a little bit at a time when they were too busy being outraged and wouldn’t notice the gold of her eyes.

A sudden, familiar tingle at the back of her mind made her stiffen in her seat, teacup halfway to her mouth for a careful sip.

“That _bastard_ ,” she cursed, startling the two matrons whose eyes widened with the kind of outrage expected from someone like them.

“Lady Emrys,” one of them protested as Morgana slammed the teacup down on the table.

“Not you,” Morgana bit out and hurried through the house as fast as she could in this ridiculous dress that was apparently meant to keep woman on a leash. The household staff, having heard the commotion poked their heads out from different doorways to see what was going on.

He was in the middle of getting off of his house when she slammed the massive front doors open.

“I don’t believe you!” she yelled, gathering her skirts in her hands to ease her way down the steps. “You _deliberately_ didn’t tell me you were coming home! You fucking _prick_ ”

Merlin laughed as he handed the reins of his horse over to their stable master who looked like he was trying his best not to be too open about his amusement. “I missed you too, Morgana,” he said the same good-natured way he always did.

“Shut up,” she sneered and pulled him into a long and not very chaste kiss that hopefully conveyed how dismayed she was with him. And maybe also how much she had missed him. The tips of his fingers tangling through her hair and gliding over her face told her he probably guessed.

In the distance, the distinct sound of their household staff finally losing it could be heard over the outraged mutterings of the matrons who had _never_ heard such foul language from a lady before.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming home already?” Morgana demanded to know when she finally let go of Merlin. “We scried just recently.”

“Honestly, I thought you would have predicted my homecoming in a dream,” he said, shrugging apologetic. “But I suppose I was also hoping to surprise you.” His lips stretched into a wide, delighted grin. “I found your brother.”

Morgana gasped. “You didn’t!”

“I did,” Merlin said. “In America. Gwen will probably be there too, which actually worries me given the darker colour of her skin.”

Morgana closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to breathe her husband in while the notion that her brother was alive again settled in. She’d almost forgotten how long it had been. A hundred years at least.

She looked back up at Merlin who still looked far too pleased with himself. “I don’t suppose you’re up for accompanying me to America in a few weeks?”

She snorted. “Of course, I am. But let’s talk about that later.” She grabbed the lapels of his coat, tugging impatiently. “We have some catching up to do.”

Merlin lifted his hat as Morgana dragged him past the two matrons, giving them a goofy smile. “Ladies,” he said at their stunned expressions.

Their butler took his hat once they were up the steps and inside while a maid hurried to get the matrons’ belongings and send them on their way with a muttered apology she didn’t mean. Then the entire staff dispersed. At least Morgana assumed so, because they knew not to be around when the lord of the house had just come back home.

“Fuck, Morgana,” Merlin muttered, hot breath fanning over her neck as he pushed her against the door into the bedroom. His hands went to tangle in the strings of her corset. “Do you _have_ to wear these things?”

Morgana laughed and shed the corset with a single word. She turned around to draw him back in, longing and heat growing in the pit of her stomach. “Not anymore.”

Merlin kissed her, tearing off the rest of her clothes on their way to the bed. “Good.”

 

 

Entry 21

 **Warnings:** a/b/o, heat cycles, threesome, rimming, fingering, oral sex, size difference.  
**Pairing:** Gwaine/Merlin/Arthur

Gwaine and Arthur lead Merlin into their designated room at the Heat Center.

Once inside, they bend him at the waist and lay him flat over the edge of the bed.

As a rare male omega, Merlin’s heats are notoriously bad. So bad, that he’d had the foresight to set up an appointment with not one, but two alpha Heat Mentors.

The boy’s eyes are glassy, blown wide as he pants and writhes against their hold, rubbing his face against the silky sheets.

The boy may be eighteen, but he’s small— scrawny— and his heat burns right through him, hotter than anything Gwaine’s ever seen before.

Arthur palms his pert ass as Gwaine slips a finger into his shorts and between his cheeks, sliding through the slick he finds there.

As soon as they release him, Merlin flips over and wriggles up the bed, his small cock bouncing against his stomach.

Gwaine hitches Merlin’s little shorts down, yanking them past his pale thighs. Arthur presses soft kisses up Merlin’s body, shoves his shirt up, and nuzzles under his arm, breathing him in.

Arthur drags his lips down Merlin’s stomach and licks the sharp edge of Merlin’s pale hip before he takes Merlin’s fat little cockhead into his mouth, and bobs on it.

Merlin leans up, his sharp nails clawing at Gwaine’s shoulder as he reaches for an anchor. He wraps his arms around Gwaine’s neck and pulls him close. He licks into his mouth, sucking on Gwaine’s tongue and gasping out little puffs of hot air.

Gwaine brushes his thumb over Merlin’s taut nipple, and pinches the puckered nub between his fingers.

Merlin arches his hips off the bed, throws his head back, and pulls hard on Arthur’s hair as he swallows him down again.

“Help me flip him back over,” Arthur pleads.

“Yeah,” Gwaine agrees.

He grabs Merlin’s narrow hips, rolling him over onto his stomach. Arthur wastes no time draping his body over Merlin’s back and pressing soft kisses to his neck.

Merlin moans, facedown on the bed. He rolls his hips, humping against the bed until Arthur stills him. His strong arms wrap around Merlin’s belly, his hand reaching for Merlin’s cock as he shoves the boy’s knees up under him, putting his sweet little ass on display.

“Hold him,” Arthur grunts.

Gwaine can hear the heat-madness in Arthur’s voice— thinks he’s close to losing control.

Arthur grips the back of Merlin’s neck, grasps him tight and presses him down onto the bed. “Don’t let him get away.”

Merlin just whimpers and whines in response. He squirms against the sheets as a flush spreads down his chest.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Gwaine laughs. “Merlin doesn’t want to be anywhere other than here, do you?”

"Ohhh,” Merlin sobs, bucks his hips, and fucks his little hips looking for relief, but finds none.

Arthur’s firm hold on Merlin’s neck doesn’t let up.

Merlin’s slack mouth gasps as his eyes squeeze shut tight.

Gwaine pulls the globes of Merlin’s cheeks apart, watches his tiny pink hole twitch and grow tighter, impossibly small. Gwaine just pets him there until it clenches and contracts even more under his teasing caress. He rubs his thumb over his soft looking taint, all around the edge before finally pressing inside.

Arthur crowds up next to Gwaine, rubbing his hands over the globes of Merlin’s ass. His fingers slip through the wet slick and right over his creamy warm hole.

Circling a finger along Merlin’s stretched hole, Arthur spreads the slick all around before he presses a finger in alongside Gwaine's making Merlin moan and shove back against their hands.

Slick drips down Merlin’s ass and thighs and his hairless balls hang low between his legs as Gwaine leans down to tease his tongue over the edge of Merlin’s stretched rim.

“Fuck.” Arthur moans as he thrusts in deeper.

Merlin rocks back on his knees and whimpers for more, but Gwaine holds him steady.

Gwaine reaches around to grasp Merlin’s cock, stroking him with purpose.

When Arthur adds another finger, Merlin claws at the bed and comes with a scream.

Gwaine collapses on one side of Merlin and Arthur collapses on the other. They gladly take the opportunity to rest for a moment while they have the chance.

They both know it’s just the beginning of a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and show your love :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold the porny entries for week two of the Pornalot fest!
> 
> Each entry has individual warnings but they have not been mod-checked so proceed at your own risk.
> 
> Please vote for your favourite entries! All you need is an LJ account :D You can vote [HERE](http://pornalot.livejournal.com/4473.html)

Entry 22

 **Warnings:** none  
**Pairing:** Morgana/Gwen/Arthur

 **Summary:** Team leaders Gwen, Arthur, and Morgana take a break from Pokémon hunting.

[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/sockpuppet_2/77897388/2265/2265_original.png)

 

 

Entry 23

 **Pairing:** Merlin/Sefa  
**Warnings:** none, all is consensual here

 **Summary:** They call him _Magic Fingers_. Every woman, yes, be it princess, lady or scullery maid, they all whisper about the magic fingers of the King's clumsy servant. They visit his humble room off the Court Physician's quarters as often as they dare. Sefa, fairly new to the castle, is no exception.

Entry 24

 **Warnings:** none  
**Pairing:** Elena/Mithian

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/tracionn/24105297/80770/80770_original.jpg)

Entry 25

 **Warnings:** Mythical porn, Bestiality(?), Voyeurism  
**Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur/Gwaine/Percival

 **Summary:** Centaur!Percival, Faun!Gwaine, Naga!Arthur, Dryad!Merlin

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/vanhelsing019/69987612/9191/9191_original.jpg)

Entry 26

 **Title:** In the discharge of his duty  
**Warnings:** None, really.  
**Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin

 **Summary:** It is not often that Arthur neglects himself, but a shaking hand does more damage than good. A full week, yet the hairs on Arthur's face are still sparse. They stand awkwardly next to each other, thin and reedy like the men that had straggled back with him. It is rare for Arthur to ask, but rarer still for Merlin to let him.

[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/le_red_queen/15561324/64153/64153_original.jpg)

Entry 27

 **Warnings:** N/A  
**Pairings:** Gwaine/Weird Alien thing from Arthur's Bane Part2

 **Summary:** “Gwaine had so many questions—like would it glow in the dark if they shagged—and how did it build this weird subterranean porn-dungeon? Whatever the case, he'd yet to meet an orifice that he didn't like.”

Entry 28

 **Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur

 **Summary:** They say that diamonds are actually quite common, but that doesn't stop Merlin from marveling at the gifts Arthur drowns him in.

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/deheerkonijn/71578576/42736/42736_original.png)

Entry 29

 **Warnings:** Hurt/comfort, daddy says no  
**Pairing:** salmonella!Merlin / steak!Arthur

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=w2d0xz)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and show your love :)


End file.
